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Thursday, August 27, 2009

In the Prologue, a Rose Garden press conference announces a connection between the tanked economy to a monstrous evil pertaining to the death of the 42nd POTUS.

Scene I brings in a prophetess with a palindromic name and a chip on her shoulder. Verbal sparring ensues, ending in an accusation.

Scene II has Ramen the Chief of Staff trying to clear himself as a suspect. The question of the death of the 42nd POTUS looms. His widow, Cthulia, the Secretary of State under OediPOTUS, arrives to try to defuse the situation.

Scene III has an old family friend come to announce the death of the man who was a father to OediPOTUS. The news brings little comfort, as unsustainable tragedy begins a methodical turn to farce.

Finally, farce grinds to a halt as the mysterious Rosor ties the tubes up for everyone.

Cthulia wanders into the Rose Garden, thinking aloud

Cthulia: What to do with OediPOTUS? He's so wrapped up in the past. None of my usual means of reaching him appear to be working…

Sandy Hamburger enters

Sandy Hamburger: Do you know where OediPOTUS is? I have news that he should really hear first.

C: Oh, come on. What else has gone wrong.

SB: I never said this to you, but Kerry Kennedy has died.

C: I see. This is bad news, but maybe it will get his mind off of that evil Hanah woman and her accusations.

Enter OediPOTUS

OediPOTUS Wrecks: Cthulia, you sent for me?

C: There is news.

OW: Who is this man, and why is he standing oddly, as if there was something in his shoe?

C: Sandy Hamburger has lost some weight lately, so maybe you fail to recognize him. He stands like that out of the longstanding habit of keeping reading material in his footwear. But that's not important right now. He is just come from Martha's Vineyard. Your father has died.

OW: This is horrible news. What happened, Sandy?

SH: He signed up for POTUScare. The Death Panel decided that his usefulness to society was expended, and some deadbeat should receive treatment instead. We tried to argue with him against the patriotic folly of signing up for POTUScare, but, well, you know how stubborn he could be about the need for Progress at all cost. Including, we see, his life.

OW: Well, that whacky Oedipus Rex prophecy is disproven, as I haven't seen the old duffer since I won the election.

C: See?

OW: Well, Olga von Kleindrubble Kennedy, my mother, is still alive. A partial fulfillment would be horrible on several levels.

SH: Olga? What's the worry, modulo the fact that she's beyond botox? She may have carried you to term, but she's not your mother.

OW: Run that by me again?

SH: Look, she survived ovarian cancer before she married Kerry Kennedy. She was medically incapable of producing a child.

OW: This gets weirder by the moment. So if she is not my biological mother, is Kerry Kennedy my father? Do I have any clue as to my heritage? Do I even have time to deal with this whole mystery of where I came from and who killed Williams, and why the economy is tanked? This situation is completely wee-weed up.

SH: All I can tell you is that you should rely on the judgment of Ramen and Cthulia.

C: Why don't you keep your mind focused on the economy. We can have a combination Roots and Ellery Queen episode later.

OW: Right. Ramen is still on my poo-pooh list. But I have to know, or it will eat at me: where did I come from?

SH: You could ask your old family doctor, from back in the day before POTUScare. Coincidentally, he was my doctor, too, so I have him on speed dial.

Pulls out cell phone, makes a call. Brief exchange, nods.

He'll be on a flight here in two hours, and can explain everything.

C: Listen to me. Why are you wasting time on this? How do events of forty years ago have the slightest bearing on the current problems? Do you think that this doddering old fool doctor has records of what went on? You should drop this irrelevant inquiry right now.

OW: Cthulia, you're not my mother! I will not listen to you, do you hear? The truth must be made known. You know as well as I do that the economy is still going to be tanked in months out. I can't unwind in one year the mistakes that Sphinxor made over eight. The fact that I can have success in pursuing the answer to a small, yet important question like 'How did I get here?' is crucial to me holding on to sanity right now. This question represents the bottom of this current quagmire. We get through this, and the slope is totally positive on the other side. The question is a millstone around my neck: I have to deal with it.

C: You absolutely miserable fool! You're so stupid as to defy description. I've had all I can stand of this crap!

Cthulia runs off

OW: Bring on the crap. I have to know this. I'm an American citizen, born the usual way. Even if my mother was a hamster and my father smelled of elderberries, I'd need to track down this answer. That's just the way it…is.

Hit the tip jar, you ungrateful bastards!

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